


Hidden Light

by Destina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a winter hunting trip, Merlin finds he still has much to learn about Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Malu_3 (Grainne)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grainne/gifts).



> For the purposes of this story, I pretended that certain events near the end of series 4, and all of series 5, never happened. Set during the 'Golden Age of Camelot' after series 4.

Merlin stood shivering to the right of Arthur's chair as the morning council session wound down. Camelot was well into winter's grasp, and solstice was approaching. It was Merlin's favorite time of year, for it brought with it feasts and tournaments, celebrations of both the old ways and the new.

"Now, sire, for the weapons inventory." Sir Leon stood from his seat, unrolled a wrinkled piece of parchment, and cleared his throat. "Over the last several days, I've counted every sword, mace, bow, and arrow in the armory..."

Merlin shifted from foot to foot as Leon's interminable inventory stretched on. By the looks of it, Arthur wasn't doing much better. He had slumped so far down in his chair that his spine looked to be permanently curved as a result. His hand covered his mouth, and every so often his eyes would crinkle at the corners as he stifled another mighty yawn. Peace had been wonderful for the kingdom, but less kind to its king's boredom threshold. 

"...and eleven buckets filled with pitch - for emergencies only, of course." Leon rolled the parchment and waited expectantly for Arthur's acknowledgement. Someone coughed; Merlin cleared his throat, and the king's eyes snapped open wide. 

"Yes!" Arthur looked about wildly, then settled on Leon, who was still standing. "Sir Leon. Thank you for that...thorough report." 

"I have news from the borders as well, sire," Leon said, as Arthur shoved himself upright in his chair. 

"Morgana?" Arthur said, the sharpness coming back into his eyes. Privately Merlin knew that her defeat had been difficult for Arthur, just as much as it had been a relief. He would have loved to tell Arthur that he believed her as good as dead without her magic, but he was resigned to keeping his role in her defeat hidden - just one more of his many secrets. 

"No sign or trace of her has been found, sire, though we continue to search. If she is alive, she has covered her tracks very well." 

"Very good. Continue patrols until we can establish her whereabouts, Leon - it would not do to become complacent." 

"No, my lord." Finally, Leon sat down, and Merlin was sure he did not imagine the collective sigh of relief. It was even worse when Leon reported before the newly-formed knights' round table. At least at the regular council table there were no knights dozing, drooling in their oblivious slumber. 

"Sire," Elyan said. "Will you be scheduling a tourney to precede the yuletide feast?"

Merlin winced. There had been an abundance of tournaments, feasts, and special visits from royalty in the past few months, and they had stopped holding Arthur's attention long ago. Of late the king had taken to pacing about his chambers at night, holding papers and books in his hand, but never reading them. He stopped by the windows often, gazing out into the darkness with wistful eyes. 

"No, Sir Elyan." Arthur sat forward and said, "I've decided to tour Camelot - to see more of the kingdom and its people, now that I am king."

"A progress, sire?" Gaius could be forgiven for sounding horrified. It took a small army to arrange and schedule a progress, and they were a nightmare of officiousness and expense. 

"No. More of a short hunting trip." Merlin coughed, earning himself a glare from Arthur. They all knew hunting was code for escape from the citadel, and breathing room for Arthur. "As I was saying," Arthur continued, "this will be a small party. Elyan, Gwaine and Percival shall accompany me, together with a few members of the guard." He didn't say Merlin's name, but it was hardly necessary. Of late, anytime Merlin was more than five feet from Arthur, the king had taken to bellowing his name until Merlin was underfoot again. Where Arthur went, Merlin went also. "Sir Leon, you will remain here, and Camelot will be safe in your capable hands."

"I am to be regent?" Leon looked stunned, and Merlin couldn't blame him. It was the first time Arthur had entrusted the actual running of the kingdom to anyone in his absence. 

"There is no one I trust more to handle affairs of state," Arthur said, smiling at him. "And you will have many wise advisors," he said, nodding to Gwen and Gaius in turn. 

Gwen returned the smile, but there was quickly-veiled sadness in her eyes at being left behind. Merlin was not terribly surprised at the decision. He had been watching Arthur closely since Morgana's defeat and Gwen's return. Arthur seemed to smile more, and to enjoy the company of knights and advisors alike. His heart was lighter than Merlin had seen it since Uther's death, and once, Merlin might have thought Gwen's presence the source of that happiness. But though she had returned to Camelot, and taken up residence in the lower village once again, the relationship between Arthur and Gwen remained cordial at best. 

"We leave at sunrise," Arthur said, with a glance at Merlin. He stood, and the council was officially ended. 

So it was that Merlin found himself pressed close to a rotting log in the foggy woods the next morning, Arthur hunkered down beside him and watching out for things to kill. 

"You're not going to find any stags," Merlin said in a loud whisper that made birds flutter nervously overhead. Arthur fixed him with an exasperated look, though his hands and shoulders never moved from their steady position, ready to fire his arrow at any moment. 

"It is not about the kill, Merlin, it's about the hunt itself."

"Oh, I see," Merlin said, warming to the old argument. "Good job then, since your hunting skills are clearly superior to the killing ones." As with most winter hunting trips, Arthur and the knights had killed only what they needed for simple sustenance, and the pelts of a few sacrificial rabbits were already hung across the pommel of Merlin's saddle, thick with soft winter fur.

"Shut up and stop scaring the game with your complaining," Arthur said. He put a gloved hand on Merlin's head, shoving him lower to the ground. Merlin made a grumbly noise, but the gleam of pleasure in Arthur's eyes was worth all the roughhousing in the world. 

Merlin yawned and burrowed down into the snowy pile of leaves they'd hidden themselves in. It seemed only a moment later that he woke to the sound of muffled shouts - _Arthur's shouts_. He struggled out from under the pile of red fabric draped over him and shot to his feet, searching for the danger. 

Instead of a giant magical beast eating his friends, he found Gwaine and Arthur tussling in the snow, snorting and gasping with their obvious efforts to be quiet while Elyan and Percival pelted them both with wet snowballs. Merlin grinned; they were perfectly distracted, and so...

A moment later, all four of them shouted in surprise as four cold snowballs smacked them in the face. As one, the four knights turned toward Merlin, who shrugged, still grinning. 

"Oh, you little -!" Gwaine was first to lunge toward Merlin, wiping his face and laughing at the same time. 

Merlin scrambled out of the way, and then the chase was on, through the sparse woods and brush with Merlin looking over his shoulder at his pursuers. He laughed and ran faster - with their armor on they may have been Camelot's fiercest warriors, but they were also slow and heavy. They were no match for his speed. 

Something struck his thigh, and with a whoop of surprise, Merlin went down hard. He rolled, only to find Arthur straddling his chest. Arthur held a handful of snow, which melted in his fist and dripped down onto Merlin's face. 

"Hello," Arthur said pleasantly, and mashed the snow into Merlin's face. Merlin sputtered, then dug his heels in and shoved Arthur over, and the two of them were wrestling, laughing, behaving like boys without a care instead of a king and his not-terribly-fleet-footed manservant. 

When Merlin's strength gave out and he lay panting in the mess they'd kicked up, Arthur patted him on the chest and got to his feet. His cheeks were red with exertion, his hair full of sticks and rotted leaves, and Merlin's heart lurched in his chest to see Arthur so carefree. 

"I'll be needing some stew now," Arthur said. He reached down a hand for Merlin, and grinned when Merlin gave him only a suspicious look in return. 

"Thanks," Merlin said, shoving up without Arthur's aid. 

"Suit yourself," Arthur said with a shrug, as he released the handful of snow he'd been hiding. The five of them trudged back to their campsite, shoving and chortling the whole way, and Merlin was cheered to be included in their camaraderie. 

Supper was hot stew with generous chunks of rabbit, which Percival helped to cook, mostly by skinning and cleaning the rabbits for Merlin while he made the fire and fetched water. They ate in quiet contentment while the sun set and the air grew colder, and when Merlin took the bowls to the stream to rinse them, the others divvied up watch and settled down by the fire to rest. 

Merlin curled up on his nest of blankets, near enough to Arthur to see his breath ghosting white in the chill air. There were some things expected of kings; pavilions with all the trappings were one of them, and an entourage which stretched a mile was another. Arthur was not that kind of king. With his men in the woods, he often sprawled on the bare ground under a clear sky and was content. 

In sleep, Arthur's face was free of the stress of daily rule, and the visage of the young prince Merlin first knew surfaced again. Merlin suspected Arthur had never known a truly carefree day in his life, but once, he had been a boy who did not yet know the weight of kingdoms and villains. Perhaps his damp hair had curled then around his forehead, just as it did now; perhaps he had longed for his mother to push it away. 

Under the cold, shining stars, Merlin looked his fill, and indulged a moment of acceptance for the love he had borne Arthur these many years. 

As if Arthur could sense his feelings, he opened his eyes slowly, and met Merlin's gaze. They stared at each other in silence, until Arthur's arm emerged from the pile of blankets and furs. With one hand, he tugged at Merlin's shoulder, urging him closer. 

"For warmth," Arthur said, his voice hoarse and too loud in the quiet woods. 

Merlin nodded as he gathered his blankets around him and shifted closer. It was not the first time they had slept huddled together; it meant nothing more than survival and comfort. This close, the cold of Arthur's mail mingled with the full heat of his skin, and Merlin ducked his head down, pressing his nose to the patch of fabric at Arthur's collar. Arthur rested his chin on the top of Merlin's head and fussed with the furs until Merlin's arms and chest were covered, Arthur's hand still resting on Merlin's shoulder. 

Warm and content, Merlin closed his eyes and waited for morning to come. 

**

At sunrise, Merlin ladled rewarmed stew into bowls for the others. As they ate it began to snow, fat flakes which drifted gently down onto Merlin's nose and soon turned into a steady sheet of white. 

"Sire, perhaps we should return to Camelot," Percival said, his face turned dubiously toward the sky. 

Arthur cradled a cup of steaming wine in his gloved hands and thought it over for a moment. "I think not," he said finally. "There is a village near here where I sheltered once as a young prince. I'm quite sure they would receive us well for an evening's rest." 

If the snowfall grew heavier and they were far from the citadel, they might be gone from Camelot for a week or more. Merlin thought of Leon back in Camelot, making decisions in the king's absence with Gaius at his side, and wondered that Arthur didn't seem in any kind of a hurry to return. 

They mounted their horses and followed Arthur's lead for the day's hunt, Merlin at his side as always, half-asleep in the frosty cold. There were more rabbits, and a few deer Arthur mysteriously failed to pursue as they made their way south. They ate on horseback, dried meat and cheeses Merlin had carefully packed away for the group, and rode through fields thick with frost as Arthur chose their hunting sites at random. 

When finally they were finished for the day, Arthur turned the horses north again. "A few more miles," Arthur said. "There's an inn. We'll sleep inside tonight." 

"You said you sheltered here, as a boy?" Merlin could not help but be curious. He'd heard very few first-hand tales of Arthur's deeds as a prince. His behavior when Merlin had first known him had led him to believe Arthur was as spoiled and immature as it was possible to be - and easily swayed by his father's harsh judgment. It was no wonder Arthur never shared stories of his youth. 

"Yes," Arthur answered, no tales forthcoming this time, either. Merlin sighed, resigned to it. 

When the village came into view, chimneys smoking and villagers in dark cloaks about their business in the square, a small smile crept across Arthur's face. If Merlin had not known better, he would have said it was fondness. They rode on, past the first few cottages, until they encountered a woman with blue eyes and grey hair. The moment she caught sight of Arthur she gasped and dropped her basket, winter apples spilling into the snow. "The king!" she cried, dropping into an awkward curtsy.

As if a dam had broken, villagers spilled out of every cottage and stable, thronging toward the small hunting party. On every face there was a smile, amid quiet cries of "Arthur!" and "Majesty!" 

Merlin stared at Arthur; Arthur only raised his eyebrows a tiny notch at Merlin before dismounting his horse into the chaos of bows, curtseys, and claps on the back. Merlin watched in amazement as Arthur greeted several of them by name. 

"Sire," a man said from the back of the crowd. He pushed forward, and Arthur clasped his hand like an old friend. 

"Hello, Henrick. It is good to see you again."

"And you, majesty. You are most welcome here." Henrick beamed at Arthur, then gestured at a squat building on the edge of the village. "My inn is at your disposal, though I think I do not have enough rooms for all. But the people will take you in. There was a good harvest this year, and plenty for all." 

Gwaine gave Merlin a bemused look as he swung down from his horse and a comely woman took his arm; likewise Percival, to whom an elderly couple bowed. 

"I thank you, Henrick. My servant and I will take one of your rooms. Please place the guards and any of my knights you can accommodate in the rest."

"We have food and drink for you also, my lord," a woman said from the edge of the crowd. "Come and eat with us tonight!"

"Yes!" cried others, and the crowd took up the call.

Men took their horses, and Arthur and Merlin were led to the inn, young ladies curtsying and showing the way at every turn. Before long they had been shown into a small but comfortable room with sweet-smelling hay in the plump ticking and a cheery fire in the grate. 

"You'll come down to sup with us?" the girl said, her sparkling green eyes trained anxiously on Arthur.

"Of course," Arthur said, kissing her hand. That earned him a giggle and a blush, and as she shut the door, Merlin burst out laughing. 

"Must you, Merlin?" Arthur asked, tossing his saddlebag on the bed. 

"Sorry," Merlin said, stifling the laughter which threatened to bubble out of him. "It's just, I've never seen people so happy to see you. What did you do, single-handedly save them from an invading army?"

"Nothing like that," Arthur said. He rummaged around in his bag a moment and withdrew a fresh tunic. "Help me get changed. We can't refuse their hospitality." 

"Would you like a bath?" Merlin asked, raising his eyebrows. It was not his place to imply that Arthur smelled like rotted leaves and animal leavings, but he had spent most of the previous day crawling around in both. 

"A change of clothes will do." Arthur handed Merlin the tunic and said, "No, wait. Fetch me a basin. I can at least wash my face."

"At least," Merlin agreed mildly, earning an impatient sigh from Arthur.

In short order, Merlin had warm water at the ready, and he took up the cloth to wash Arthur of his own accord, batting away Arthur's attempts to wrest it from him. "What do you pay me for?" Merlin demanded, stroking the cloth over Arthur's neck. Merlin could not imagine being manservant to those men who went through life encrusted with dirt and avoiding the basin. 

He gently rubbed the cloth over Arthur's chest, beneath his arms, across his belly, acutely aware of the fire's heat, and Arthur's gaze following his every motion. 

When he faltered, dragging the cloth slowly down Arthur's muscled back, Arthur turned and took it from him. Merlin flushed - although why he was hot with embarrassment, he had no idea, after washing Arthur a thousand times in their years together - and stepped away. 

Arthur wrung out the cooling cloth in the basin. "Your turn," he said, the cloth in his outstretched hand. 

"I'm not-"

"Good for the goose and the gander," Arthur said. He took Merlin's hand, turned it palm-up, and dropped the wet cloth in it with a plop. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, staring expectantly. 

In all the years together, Arthur had never insisted Merlin bathe, much less in his presence, and he had certainly never watched. Merlin rolled his eyes and shrugged off his tunic, then wiped the cloth over his arms and under them with quick motions, much less thorough than he had used on Arthur. 

"Happy?" he said, acutely conscious of the red flush rising on his neck and cheeks. 

Arthur said nothing; he only looked at Merlin, a slow smile crossing his face, before reaching for his fresh shirt, which he held out to Merlin. 

In no time at all Merlin had him dressed and ready, the awkwardness of bathing forgotten, and they made their way downstairs into the inn's common room, which had been transformed into a hall meant for feasting. Garlands festooned the walls, filling the space with the scent of woodsy balsam, and candles brightened every corner. A high table had been set closest the bar, where five settings of unadorned metal platters and cups gleamed in the low light. 

"Wonder what they did with all the drunkards and gamblers?" Merlin said, looking around in wonder at the preparations. 

"They'll soon be here, too," Arthur said with a grin. "On feast days, all eat together as one." 

By the time Merlin had the lay of the land - where the kitchen was, and where the supply of mead was kept - the villagers had filed in and were seated all around the room, jostling one another at benches and tables and corner spots by the hearth. A cheer went up when Arthur took his place, with Henrick to his left and his knights seated in the rest of the chairs at the high table. Merlin filled their cups and took up his place standing just behind and to Arthur's right, as usual. 

"It is so good to see you, Arthur." Henrick lifted his cup and toasted in Arthur's direction, and to Merlin's astonishment, Arthur returned the toast, but did not correct Henrick's familiarity with him. "It has been too long since we last heard any but the official news of your reign." 

"It has been a busy time." Arthur traced the lip of his simple cup with one finger. "During my father's illness, I had a taste of what it meant to rule, but I was aware he might recover and take up the throne again. Being king is quite another matter."

"How do you find it?" Henrick asked. It was a gentle question, one which invited a polite answer, and yet Arthur hesitated. In his silence, Merlin heard contemplation. It was as if the ghosts of his failures crossed the room, betrayals and miseries Arthur had castigated himself over a thousand times. Arthur always had been harder on himself than anyone who judged him ever could be. 

"I wasn't ready." Arthur leveled a direct gaze at Henrick, never flinching from his perceived truth. "In my foolishness, and my eagerness not to tarnish Uther's legacy, I made a number of mistakes my father would never have made." He took a long swallow of the mead, draining his cup, then set it to the side where Merlin could reach it. 

Henrick nodded. Merlin stepped forward quietly and refilled Arthur's cup, then melted back into the shadows. "There's only so much that can be learned from observation," Henrick said. "So many things a man cannot fully understand until he is forced to take ownership of them." 

"If only I had known that to be true before I became king, I would have been much happier," Arthur said wryly. 

"I trust you don't dwell on the past overmuch?" 

Arthur shook his head. "I'm told by irritatingly persistent advisors that it isn't good to spend time looking backward." 

Merlin coughed, spluttering into his shirt sleeve in a poor attempt to be quiet. It was a recent argument between them, one Merlin had felt was fruitless, as Arthur sometimes seemed determined not to listen on the finer points of things. 

"Good advice is worth more than anything else, and you are very fortunate to have it in your court." Henrick gestured forward the servers, who began to bring dishes from the kitchen. "You are reputed to be wise and just, even among the Druids." Merlin jerked in surprise, spilling wine across his hand. He shook it off absently, then dabbed it dry on his jacket. As far as Merlin was aware, Arthur had never knowingly had an advisor or associate other than Gaius who was in communication with any magic-users. 

"I don't know that I deserve that reputation." Arthur took a deep breath, smiling at Henrick's expression. 

"All our faith is with you, Arthur. It is the man who believes himself ready for the mantle of leadership who is least able to wear it. You have proven once again that you will be the great king I once said you would become." Henrick set his empty cup down with a bang, and Merlin moved forward to refill it. "Now let us feast, and leave this heavy talk for another time!" 

As if his words opened the floodgates, women from the village began setting down trenchers laden with fresh food, and a cheer went up from the room. Merlin smiled to see the fare was much as it would be in Ealdor: plump roasted chickens and bowls of carrots; stewed rabbit in iron pots; round cheeses paired with fresh bread; fish from the stream; and plums baked into soft pastries for dessert. 

Arthur tucked in as if he had not been fed in weeks. Merlin raised an eyebrow at the way he attacked his meal. When he was served in Camelot, he often picked over the meats and cheeses and left the rest to be carted off. Here, he ate everything, eyes shining with delight, and Merlin hastened to refill his cup often.

A slender woman with dark hair approached the table and curtseyed to Arthur before placing a pie on the table before him. "My lord," she said, her voice warm and rich with affection. Arthur sat forward, a delighted smile playing about his lips. 

"Hello, Astrid." She flushed with pleasure at his greeting, and curtseyed low again. "Have you been well?"

"Very well, my lord, and hoping always for your happiness." They regarded one another with open admiration for a moment, and once again Merlin found himself wondering at all the things he did not know about Arthur's past. 

Arthur turned his head and caught Merlin staring as Astrid returned to the kitchen. He lowered his voice so they would not be overheard, and said, "Astrid was very kind to me when I spent time in this village. She was...well, let us say she helped me with one of my...formative...experiences." Arthur straightened in his chair and gestured with his right hand, as if to make pictures in the air with which to explain his point. 

Merlin didn't need pictures. 

"She was your first?" he exclaimed, earning a scowl from Arthur. 

"She claimed my first kiss, yes, Merlin, and lower your voice out of respect for the lady!"

"Sorry," Merlin said, truly contrite. His gaze wandered to Astrid, and he looked more closely at her. She had a sweet smile and a lovely figure, and mischief danced in her eyes as she laughed and talked with the others at the door. He glanced around quickly, and finding no prying eyes, bent closer to Arthur to ask the question which was bursting out of him like a flower on the first spring day. "Only a kiss?"

Arthur made a noncommittal noise and took up his cup again. "Surely you had someone special who was to you what Astrid was to me." 

Freya's lovely face flashed into Merlin's mind, and then was gone, leaving just the lingering sadness he associated with her. "Not like that," Merlin said. 

Arthur cleared his throat, breaking the moment, though he continued to watch Merlin with curious eyes, as if he had just discovered a treasure trove he meant to explore. 

The evening progressed with a village storyteller regaling them with songs and tales of the Knights of the Round Table, which made Gwaine chortle with glee and Percival blush down to the roots of his hair. Servers brought pies and cakes aplenty, and Arthur politely tried them all, though Merlin thought it was not much of a hardship to be a king and eat cakes all day long. He secretly plotted to take a piece of the apple cake back to their rooms for nibbling as he cleaned armor. When the bawdy songs began by the fire, Arthur sat back and sang along with some of them, his face red with wine and warmth, his eyes twinkling with a happiness Merlin had not seen in his serious face for a long time. 

When the fire began to dwindle, Henrick turned to Arthur and asked, "Will you and your men spar with some of the village men tomorrow? We have men here who once took up the sword for Camelot, and young men who have dreamed of becoming knights."

"It would be my honor," Arthur said, clasping Henrick's forearm warmly. They smiled at one another. 

"Until morning then." Henrick stood, and all in the common room stood and nodded their heads to Henrick as he departed, no matter how drunk or tired they seemed to be. 

"There won't be much sport in it," Elyan said, echoing Merlin's thoughts. "No competition, really." 

"Sport is not always the point," Arthur said. "It will be fun. Good night, gentlemen; I will see you in the morning, wherever the village men are assembled." As one, the knights stood and bowed, and Arthur pushed his chair back, Merlin at his heels as they made their way upstairs. 

When they had reached their room and barred the door securely behind them, Merlin set his carefully wrapped apple cake by the hearth to warm and said, "Did I understand you correctly, sire? Did you say that tomorrow's festivities will be fun? That is a concept I thought you entirely unfamiliar with." 

"Keep your opinions to yourself, Merlin, and feed the fire before we turn into blocks of ice." 

In truth, the fire was already a cheerful ball of warmth, and the bed had been turned down with sprigs of lavender and sage tucked under the pillows. Merlin dutifully added sticks to the flames, which would keep the fire lively until they were asleep. Arthur removed the herbs from his bed and threw off his belt and tunic without waiting for Merlin to undress him. 

Merlin eyed the space before the hearth and sighed. Once he had Arthur's armor spread out there, his own bedroll would take up the remaining space. It would be a cramped evening, but at least he would be warm. He bent to the task, gathering up Arthur's mail as Arthur clambered into bed, but Arthur waved a hand at him. 

"Leave it, Merlin; it won't rust in one evening."

"Says someone who's clearly never scrubbed rust from his own armor," Merlin said tartly, ignoring Arthur's narrowed eyes. 

"Very well, then, wipe it down, but then put out the candle and come to bed." 

Merlin nearly dropped the armor as he turned to stare. Many retorts crossed his mind - it was not so long ago that Arthur had referred to sharing a bed with him as a horror not to be borne - but he found himself speechless, despite the opportunity to poke fun. Arthur raised his eyebrows at Merlin expectantly, gesturing toward the fire, before he settled down into the bed and yanked the blankets up to his chin. 

With practiced finesse, Merlin located a rag in his saddlebag and made quick work of the mail. It would not gleam as it might have if he'd given it his full attention, but he dared not use magic with Arthur so close, bouncing about in the bed like a restless child awaiting a bedtime story. He hung the mail over a chair back and quickly stripped down to his breeches and socks, then blew out the candle with a puff and gingerly pulled back the covers. 

The bed smelled of sweet hay, and memories swelled around Merlin, of nights asleep in the barn after a hard day of work or play as a boy. He sighed happily and snuggled down into the give of the freshly-stuffed ticking. 

"Thank you," he said softly, aware of the magnitude of Arthur's gift. He was quite sure Arthur had never actually shared a bed with anyone before for longer than it took to couple with them. 

"Thank me with silence," Arthur said crossly, though he was still twitching about in search of a comfortable position. Merlin turned his head to stare at Arthur's profile, wishing that he dared ask all the questions rolling around in his head - why Arthur had chosen this village when they could have returned to Camelot; why he knew Henrick so well; why all the villagers looked at Arthur with the kind of affection most people reserve for their family, and not their king. 

And then, in the shelter provided by the half-dark, Arthur spoke. "I knew Henrick when I was little more than a boy. He showed me what it meant to be a leader of men, a man others admired and whose job it was to see to the welfare of his people. I looked up to him." Arthur turned over, putting his back to Merlin, and his voice seemed far away. "It was a lesson I forgot, for a time when I was far from this village. Until I met --" Arthur shifted around in the bed, fussing with the blankets. "Until I began to lead men myself, and knew his lessons for what they were." 

Merlin drew the blankets up closer to his face and looked at the long, tense line of Arthur's back. The firelight flickered across his bare shoulders, golden and quick, and Merlin watched its silent dance until his eyelids grew heavy and sleep came to offer him dreams. 

**

In the morning, the smell of fresh-baked bread permeated the air as Merlin threw on his own clothes and brought the fire back up to strength, then helped Arthur with his mail. They met the knights in the common room for bread and cheese, washed down with tankards of ale and watered wine, before braving the cold winter air. 

Above them, the sky was a brilliant, icy blue, and snowy clouds chased each other across the face of the sun. The townspeople had gathered at the far end of the village in a large open field, and it was as if a summer faire had come to town. Girls were bedecked with ribbons and bows, despite their heavy cloaks, and tables were laden with refreshments. Men and boys laughed and sparred in the plentiful sunshine. 

"Come, Arthur!" Henrick called, and the way he spoke Arthur's name was like joy. "We have been waiting for you!" 

Arthur entered the field to claps and cheers, and drew his sword with a flourish. "Who will be first?" he called, exciting a flurry of speculative chatter among the villagers. 

"I will," called a voice from the side of the field. "Do you remember me, sire?" A tall young man stepped forward bearing a simple sword, rough-hewn but with clean edges. 

Arthur nodded, a small smile on his face. "Jonathan. You have grown much since last I saw you."

"Indeed, sire, and I have hoped to make you proud." Jonathan swung his sword in a perfect imitation of Arthur's signature move and assumed a fighting stance, which Arthur mirrored. Merlin fell back and watched with pleasure as Arthur engaged the young man in genuine sparring, pulling only the deadliest blows as the young man tested his mettle. Even in mock combat, Arthur was beautiful as he moved, grace in every motion. It never ceased to be a marvel for Merlin, that Arthur seemed to dance in the sunlight, and yet every movement was designed to end a life quickly. 

It took only a few minutes for Arthur to disarm the young man, who bowed low as the crowd cheered. "You have indeed learned much," Arthur said, resting his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "Come to Camelot, and fight at my side as one of my knights."

"It would be an honor, sire," Jonathan stammered, his cheeks flushed a brilliant red. 

Gwaine stepped onto the field, holding a mace in one hand and gripping the hilt of his sword with the other. "And who will challenge me?" he said, turning in a circle. 

"I shall." A very large man lumbered in from the edge of the field, carrying an axe. 

"You get all the pretty fights," Gwaine grumbled under his breath, causing Arthur to throw back his head and laugh. He backed away toward Merlin as Gwaine squared off with his opponent. 

"Merlin," Arthur said, holding out his arms. "My mail sits uneven on my shoulders today, as if it is too large." 

"I find that highly unlikely," Merlin said. "Since you may as well have stuffed the extra space with whole cakes and pies." 

"Never mind," Arthur said, jerking his arm away with a scowl. "Just fix it." 

"And how do you propose I do that?" Merlin moved around behind Arthur and gave the back of his mail a great yank, noting Arthur's cough with satisfaction. "Can't exactly bind it up with needle and thread." 

"This will do." Arthur jerked Merlin forward by the edge of his sleeve and reached for the kerchief at Merlin's neck. Before Merlin could object, Arthur had slipped it loose and handed it back to Merlin with an expectant look. "The right arm is particularly saggy today." 

"It's conforming to the shape of your pie-laden muscles then," Merlin muttered, but he took the cloth and dutifully wrapped it around Arthur's arm just above the elbow, where the slack of the armor would fall. "There."

Arthur rotated his arm at the elbow, then the shoulder, and grunted his approval. He turned back to the field just in time to see the axe go flying off, and Gwaine jerk his boot behind the large man's ankle. He fell with a resounding thud, and the crowd went wild. 

"Sir Gwaine," the man said, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. "I concede."

"I should hope so!" Gwaine said with a grin. He reached down for the man's hand, and lifted him from the ground with a groan of effort. 

Percival and Elyan took their turns as well, fighting with good-natured charm as contenders came upon the field. Merlin privately thought they were more teachers than opponents, as they spent time with each man after, discussing the way they fought. Arthur's opponents varied in age and skill level, some of them older men who had clearly seen the horrors of battle, and some very young men who still held the romantic notion of war in their hearts. 

Arthur obligingly battled, sparred, corrected, and joked with them all, even as the men on the field gave way to the boys of the village, each eager for future boasting rights. His face was lit with pleasure, even as fatigue began to settle over him. Merlin knew all the signs, from the slump of his shoulders to the way he stood still between matches, conserving energy, but he turned no challengers away. 

All the while, Arthur put his skills on display, and his armor gleamed in the sun as he moved. Again and again Merlin's eye was drawn to his upraised right arm, to the kerchief tied there, which flashed a vivid red against the silver mail, like -

Merlin sat down hard on the bench behind him, staring as the edges of his kerchief streamed out behind Arthur's fast-moving arm. His eyes darted to Gwaine's arm, then Percival, and finally Elyan; each wore the ribbons of pretty girls, the favors of ladies who had been brave enough to approach them. 

Arthur, meanwhile, wore a less-than-clean kerchief plucked from the neck of his servant. 

The littlest boys of the village ran circles around Gwaine and Percival, who chased them with little wooden swords and picked them up, hoisting their screaming bundles in the air. Merlin tried to pay attention, but his attention was fixed on Arthur, and the scrap of cloth at his elbow. 

When the sun hung low over the horizon like a ripe peach ready for plucking, Arthur threw up his hands in mock defeat, and his final opponent for the day - a tiny girl in a white shift, with a stick for a weapon - giggled as she hugged his leg and toppled him over, and herself in the bargain. Merlin rolled his eyes and went to Arthur's side, standing with arms crossed as Arthur righted the toddler and sent her on her way, victorious.

"Reduced to this," Merlin said, clucking his tongue. "Camelot's mighty king." 

Arthur turned a sweaty and insufferably pleased grin on him, and shouldered past him, saying, "Get a move on, Merlin. There's a meal to be had and your mighty king is famished." 

** 

Mealtime the second night was nothing like the first. Despite the cold weather, the feast moved outside to the village square at dusk, and the villagers gathered around a blazing bonfire. Henrick's sons rolled up barrels of honey mead and ale, filling tankards and cups to the brim. Laughter filled the square, as bright and happy as the fire which warmed the air. 

Merlin sat on a low log by the fire at Arthur's side, a platter of roast chicken balanced on his knees, and watched the dancing. Arthur was proving just as popular this night as he had the first, but now the villagers had taken to the knights as well. Men and women alike sought their company for a dance by the fire, as villagers clapped out a rhythm and sang versions of the songs Merlin's mother had once sung to him by the fire. It all made him a bit homesick for Ealdor, for his mother's warm smile and the smell of pies cooling on the windowsill. 

Arthur nudged Merlin with an elbow and pointed to Gwaine, who was stumbling about the fire in a circle, laughing so hard he could not properly dance with the young lady who led him by the hand. "I see Gwaine is enjoying himself," he said, passing Merlin his tankard. 

"Where there are girls and ale, Gwaine always enjoys himself," Merlin said. "He's collected favors from half the girls in the village." 

"If he were any different, they would not love him half so well," Arthur said shrewdly, provoking a laugh from Merlin. It was true; the more ribbons and sashes festooning Gwaine's armor, the more girls clamored to add to the bounty. 

Though Merlin had tried not to think too much of it, Arthur had not removed Merlin's kerchief from his arm, even though he could not have failed to notice the sly looks and speculative glances of the townsfolk. Every time Merlin's arm brushed Arthur's, his face grew hot for no reason at all. 

"You should dance," Arthur said, as Merlin handed back the cup. 

Merlin snorted, and had another bite of chicken. "Wouldn't want to fall into the fire," he said, smiling at Arthur's laugh of agreement, even as another of the village ladies made her way shyly to Arthur's side, and begged a dance with a curtsy and a sweet smile. 

Merlin had never seen Arthur dance before. He always sat solidly in his chair at feasts, watching the proceedings from a princely remove, but did not participate in the revelry. Merlin's heart swelled to watch him drawn into the circle, his golden hair gleaming in the firelight, happiness etched into his every smile and gesture. He was as graceful whirling around the fire with a woman in his arms as he was in battle, or correcting the stance of a tiny, worshipful child. He was worth every sacrifice Merlin had ever made, or would ever make; Merlin had stopped denying it to himself long ago. 

Arthur glanced up and met Merlin's eyes, joy pouring from him, and Merlin had to look away, lest he betray his heart. 

When the bonfire collapsed and grew smoky, Arthur wandered back to Merlin's side, taking up his tankard for one last drink. "I think I will walk a while before I retire for the evening, Henrick, and so I will take my leave." 

Henrick nodded and stood to clasp Arthur's hands in his own. "I will see you off in the morning, sire," he said, and they smiled at one another. 

"Merlin," Arthur said, a clear command, as he turned and walked toward the edge of the woods. 

"Where are we going?" Merlin asked. 

"Just keep up," Arthur said, pulling his cloak tighter about him. 

They walked for a time in the starlit darkness, snow crunching beneath their boots, until Arthur paused to look about him and then turned deeper into the forest. Merlin had no idea where they were, and it was getting darker by the moment. Even the moonlight could not compensate for the thick cover. 

"I can return and get a torch," Merlin said.

"No need," Arthur said. "We're almost there."

Arthur quickened his pace, shoving aside bushes and low branches until he emerged into a clearing before a small lake. 

Merlin stood gaping for a moment, uncertain whether his eyes were playing tricks on him. The lake glowed with a gentle blue fire, and even far from the shore, Merlin could feel the magic radiating from its depths. The sound of the wind in the trees was like soft music, or the laughter of fairies; the trees seemed to bend toward Arthur, delighted to see him like everything else in this place. Merlin closed his eyes and let the magic wash over him, through him, like the water itself flowing into his body. There were no words, just sensation - Albion was present here, and she loved her king, loved him utterly and to his core. Merlin knew it as surely as he knew his own name. The glow intensified, magic showing itself unashamed to the man who was born to rule this land, who was born of magic. 

He exhaled softly and opened his eyes to find Arthur watching him, rather than the lake. Merlin struggled for words, and found to his embarrassment that his eyes were wet. The magic around them mirrored his own heart; his love for Arthur was not his alone, and the burden of Arthur's destiny was a secret others were privy to, though sometimes Merlin forgot that simple fact. 

Arthur turned away and scouted around for a place to sit, settling on the sheltered base of an immense oak tree. He scooted up against its trunk and sat waiting until Merlin wiped his eyes and sat beside him, arms around his knees. The lake's shimmering light turned everything blue around them, and made the snow sparkle. 

"When I was a boy of thirteen, Camelot was overrun by Bayard's army," Arthur said. He leaned back on his elbows, looking not at Merlin, but at the glowing lake. "My father sent me away, afraid I would be captured or killed. He could not have his heir in danger when I had barely begun to prove my prowess with a sword. I fled for Tintagel, but was wounded in the attempt." He pressed his hand against his side, over an invisible scar Merlin had seen a thousand times, but never known the cause of. "The people of this village took me in. They cared for me without a thought as to their safety, and I hid among them for six months, until my father decided it was safe to return."

"Six months?" Merlin said, thinking of the way the villagers looked at Arthur, as though he were precious to them in a way far surpassing any sovereign lord. 

"I played with their children," Arthur said. "I mended their roofs and harvested their crops, danced with their daughters and drank with their men. I taught some of the boys how to wield a weapon for the first time." He was quiet a moment, then added, "I loved these people. I didn't want to leave them, but my father sent for me when the war was won, and I had no choice."

"You found this place when you were living in the village?" Merlin asked. 

"I loved to come here. I spent hours here, daydreaming about a life where I was not the prince of Camelot. I knew what this place was, and yet I could not stay away."

"Magic," Merlin breathed, and beside him, Arthur sighed. 

"I felt welcomed here - as if I belonged. I knew it was not natural, that my father would have destroyed it if he'd ever found the lake, or knew of its properties. If I had been a dutiful son, I would have told him, or ordered my men to burn it. But I could not bear the thought of it." This time when Arthur hesitated, Merlin looked at him, and found Arthur watching him steadily. "It brought me great pleasure to come here, and also great shame, for I had embraced that thing my father was sworn to destroy. That shame fueled many of my actions in the years after, Merlin." 

"You are not your father," Merlin said, as he had done a hundred times before. With each passing year, Arthur had shown those differences more clearly. 

"Would that I had learned this long ago," Arthur said. He paused, and took a long, deep breath. "If I had shown myself to be fully my own man even before my father died, I could have made it easier for you to find your courage." A chill ran up Merlin's spine, and even as he shivered, he knew what the next words would be - words he had dreaded since the day he was placed in Arthur's service. "Perhaps then you could have been brave enough to confess your secret to your king."

All the breath left Merlin's body. He put his head down on his arms and struggled to conquer his urge to flee, for there was no point now. When he had controlled his fear, he met Arthur's gentle, hurt gaze, and asked the only question there was left to ask. "When did you know?"

Arthur settled back against the tree, his hands deliberately in his lap, and away from his sword. Merlin relaxed, just a fraction. "I think I always knew. A better question might be, when did I admit it to myself? And the answer is, I cannot say, because I refused to believe it. Your safety depended upon my continued state of denial." 

"But there was a moment this changed," Merlin guessed, seeking confirmation or enlightenment, he was not sure which. 

"The Dorocha," Arthur said simply. "Out of the hundreds who were touched by their evil, you were the sole survivor. I knew then that it was not chance." He looked back at the lake, which seemed to pulse now with forbidden light. "You had saved my life by offering your own. How could I accuse you of being the one thing that would cost you your life? It seemed a poor response to such a great gift. I had no idea what to do, how to let you know you were in no danger from me, so I kept silent." 

Merlin swallowed, and resisted the urge to touch Arthur's hand. Arthur's silence had indeed been a gift, and one which had doubtless worn on Arthur in ways Merlin could not imagine. A lifetime of hating magic could not be overcome easily, even for...Merlin's thoughts shied away from all reasons why Arthur had privileged his safety over his own fear and hatred, even though he knew very well what they were. For Arthur, Merlin had thrown away all sense of self-preservation, all his pride, for the sake of their shared destiny. Now he knew that for Merlin, Arthur had made a quiet sacrifice as well, and his gift was just as immense. 

They were silent for a time, watching the play of light across the lake, and sneaking glances at one another. Merlin wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in his thin jacket. "What now?" he asked. 

"That depends," Arthur said. "I've been king for a year, Merlin. And yet you never told me."

"I couldn't be sure," Merlin said. "I thought someday, you would reverse the bans, and I..."

"You'd be safe?" Arthur sighed. "The weight of keeping your secret this past year has been exhausting, Merlin. Almost as exhausting as waiting for the day when you would believe in me enough to tell me. I thought that day had come, when we defeated Morgana. Yet here we are."

"I considered leaving if you ever learned the truth, so you would not have to banish me, or worse," Merlin said. His mind wandered back to the many anxious nights, wondering if Arthur had seen, if he knew, if he would stand by with sadness in his eyes while Merlin burned bright on the pyre. He raised his eyes to Arthur, his heart brimming with truths now that the curtain had been pulled aside. "But I can't, Arthur. Don't ask me to. I won't go. You need me now more than ever. I would find some way to stay, to serve you. I-"

Arthur sat up suddenly, and gripped his arms tightly, pulling him forward. 

"You idiot," he said fiercely. "I forbid you to leave. Even if you had no magic at all, I would owe you more than I could repay. You have not done what a servant does for a king, or even what a man does out of loyalty to a friend. You have stood by me, always." Arthur's gaze darted to Merlin's lips, then back to his eyes, and a moment later, Arthur's mouth was on his, warm and possessive for an instant before Arthur let him go, scrambling away as if burned. 

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, "I should not have-"

"Yes, you should have," Merlin said, crawling forward to push Arthur back against the tree. "You could have at any time, I would have let you - don't you _understand_ -"

Arthur hauled Merlin into his lap, and Merlin shuddered with want as Arthur buried his hands in Merlin's hair and pulled him closer for a slow, thorough kiss. Magic murmured of destiny around them, fluttering through Merlin like butterflies in his blood. 

"Do you feel it? The magic?" Merlin breathed, his words sketched against Arthur's lips. 

"I do now," Arthur said. When Merlin looked into his eyes, he saw gold reflected there from his own. A quiet, steady trust flowed from Arthur, stronger than magic, deeper than love. It radiated from Arthur's being, despite all his doubts and fears, and Merlin's heart broke for the time they had wasted when there was so much joy they could have found in each other.

Merlin stole another kiss, deeper than the first two, and bent his head to brush his lips over the place where Arthur's heartbeat skimmed the surface of his skin, just at the side of his neck. 

"We should go back," Arthur said, chasing Merlin's mouth for more kisses, which Merlin denied him with a reluctant sigh. 

"And then?" Merlin asked, smoothing the ends of the kerchief tied to Arthur's arm. Silence descended over the woods, like a held breath. 

Arthur traced Merlin's lips with his fingertips, shaping a smile there. "There is a Yule offering awaiting you in Camelot - a blanket of the softest rabbit pelts, backed with the finest warm wool. Of course, I realized as Gwen was tying the blanket for me, bedecking it with a sprig of holly, that it was not a suitable gift for a servant." His gaze was filled with heat as he pulled Merlin close. "You have never really been just a servant, have you Merlin?"

"I have always been your servant," Merlin answered. "And I always will be, in all things you command." 

Arthur's hand curved around Merlin's cheek. "I think you will have little need of that blanket for your poor lonely bed from now on." 

They left the lake behind them, and Merlin could hear its mournful farewell in the soft lap of waves against the rocky shore. Arthur's fingers tangled briefly with Merlin's as they exited the forest and skirted the edges of the field, back toward the warmth of the inn. They slipped unnoticed past the happy villagers reveling in the road, and made their way to the room Arthur had secured for them. 

They shed their clothing one item at a time between kisses, with a pause now and then to discover skin as it was revealed. As if in a dream, Merlin gave himself over to Arthur, answering each of Arthur's many questions as best he could while so distracted. They huddled together in the center of the bed while Arthur traced his fingers over Merlin's spine, and Merlin lost the thread of all important thoughts, caught up in touching and being touched by Arthur for the first time.

In Arthur's embrace, Merlin gave all of himself, spending his passion in Arthur's greedy hands, and taking everything Arthur had to offer in his turn. And deep in the night, when Arthur whispered the simple truths Merlin had already understood, they needed no more words between them.

In the morning, Merlin rolled to his side and stretched for the pleasure of knowing the welcome soreness everywhere in his body. His voice was hoarse from hours of talking, and not from what had come after; for that, Arthur's hand had covered his mouth, before Merlin stifled his cries on Arthur's strong bare shoulder. He pushed the sheet down to see the mark he'd bitten into Arthur's hip, and pressed his lips to it, stirring his king from a short slumber. 

"Morning already?" Arthur said, his voice rough with sleep and talk. With words, they had created the map they were to follow, a delicate negotiation of forgiveness and truth, mingled with desire. 

"Time to go," Merlin answered, and let Arthur draw him down into the sheets, let Arthur press hands to him in the most intimate ways, for he was Arthur's to do with as he pleased. 

"One more day," Arthur said. "Let Camelot fend for herself; I have more important concerns here." 

"Take me back to Camelot," Merlin said. He straddled Arthur's hips, and laced his fingers together with Arthur's where they rested on Merlin's thighs. "Take me back, and stand with me on the battlements to see the kingdom you have built and will build." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss over Arthur's heart. 

Arthur smiled. "Lead the way."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas, who will be named after reveals.


End file.
